


Just People

by Euphoric_Mania



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphoric_Mania/pseuds/Euphoric_Mania
Summary: A holiday offering for you all. Horde, Alliance or Illidari, we are all just people.Happy Thanksgiving, and may your Pilgrim's Feast be wonderful.





	Just People

Arancathria pulled her cloak tighter round her shoulders as the rain came down even harder. The muddy track splashed under her boots as she walked, and she was thankful that they were at least waterproofed. All she wanted was to find some shelter where she could dry out and have something hot to eat. As powerful as the fel energies made her, the night elf born demon hunter still liked the creature comforts of any other mortal. Being wet was its own misery.

Dark trees overhung the path, branches quaking in the wind. Lightning flashed, and thunder banged overhead, deafening. As she rounded a bend she thought she detected the smell of smoke. Where there was smoke, there was usually a fire, and she quickened her steps, hoping for some kind of village inn or tavern. A small building appeared in the rainy gloom, and soon she stood on the front step.

It... wasn't a very impressive inn, if that indeed was what it was, but there was light in the windows, and being inside was ultimately better than being outside in this storm. She grabbed the handle, shoved the old wooden door open, and stepped inside.

A gust of wind caught her cloak, the sopping hem flapping around her legs as she pushed the door to. Exhausted from her journey, she turned to survey the room, and found herself met with upraised weapons.

"Whoa!"

She raised her gloved hands. A blood elf hunter stood across the room, arrow nocked, his pet growling at his feet. An orc warrior stood beside the dusty hearth, battle axe held at the ready, his snarling lips and overshot lower jaw accentuated by the shadows cast by the flickering firelight.

That was just her luck. Manage to find some shelter in the dark, and it's already occupied by the Horde. She didn't feel like a fight this night. Having campaigned against armies of demons across the Broken Isle for months, battling fruitlessly with fel overlords and their foul servants only to lose so many for so little...

Ysera, she thought, and felt the pain all over again. For all that she had sacrificed to fight the Burning Legion, tonight- just this night- she wanted to not need her blades.

"Be at ease," she said, speaking to the blood elf in his native tongue, and then made a mangled attempt at the same in orcish. "I will leave. I am too tired to quarrel with anyone tonight."

With a sigh, she turned back to the door, but as she reached for the handle a deep voice spoke up from the darkest corner, speaking in Common.

“Stay. The night is cold. This is no weather to be out in, and we have better manners than to turn away a fellow traveler on this Pilgrim's Feast.”

An enormous bull Tauren rose from his spot, a druid of some sort, she thought. She felt slightly more at ease. She generally liked Taurens; most were decent folks, many quite peaceful, but just as many were powerful, honorable warriors. She had fought alongside them. They had died at her side. It made her heart ache.

Her soul felt heavy and weary indeed, this evening.

The bull must have had some kind of influence with his companions, because they lowered their weapons slowly, regarding her fel green eyes and the wicked warglaives on her back with wary suspicion. She carefully and slowly removed her weapons, leaning them against the wall. Her pack was next, followed by her dripping cloak, which she hung off a rusted nail in one the roof beams. She turned to them then, and bowed slightly, respectfully.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I assure you, I mean no harm. I merely want to rest for a while.”

“Warm yourself by the fire,” the Tauren said gently, before he began digging through his traveling sack.

Before long, there was a pot of water heating, and honeymint tea to drink. She didn't expect them to want anything to do with her, much less share, but the Tauren held out a cup in his burly hand, and insisted she take it. It was sweet and hot, and dispelled the chill inside as she drank, a welcome warmth. They sat around the fire in silence, sipping their tea, staring at the flames. No one offered any conversation, not even introductions.

Fair enough, she thought. She was technically an enemy of the Horde, despite the fact that she had moved beyond petty factional spite long ago, on the day she had stood before Lord Illidan and pledged allegiance to his cause, and had felt the fel magic burn away her eyes even as it gave her the power to fight it. Even now, she could feel the whispers of the demons in her mind, gnawing at her every thought. Every waking moment was a battle of its own.

She wondered, as the bull finished his cup and set a pan among the red hot coals to heat, if their tolerance for her had something to do with this feasting day, recognized by most of the races in Azeroth as a time for hospitality, generosity and kindness to others. A slab of fatty bacon was added, greasing the skillet with its savory aroma, and the Tauren began cutting potatoes, which sizzled in the hot fat, and made her mouth water. Even as she watched, the blood elf turned out a loaf of spice bread and a little pot of honey that had been sealed with wax, and the orc unwrapped several slabs of meat, which he placed directly on the hot rocks to roast.

She opened her own pack and rummaged through her supplies. There were always several packets of Illidari rations ready at hand; they were perfectly wholesome and nourishing, but not exactly thrilling fare. She removed several apples and discovered a packet of spices she had picked up somewhere, forming an idea of what she wanted to make. Some flour, some sugar, some muskenbutter, a splash of water, and a little deft work with her knife, and she fashioned a heap of spiced apple cakes, which she cooked in her pan with more of the butter, until she had a whole stack of the crispy sweet flat fritters.

Then, she offered them to her fireside companions, which clearly surprised the orc and the blood elf. They looked at her offering with suspicion, but the Tauren accepted an apple cake with a murmured thank you. His acceptance seemed to shame his fellows. The blood elf accepted one next, with a little nod, and after a moment, the orc seemed to lose a little of his hostility, and also accepted a cake. She took one for herself, and they ate their cakes as their food cooked, seeming to enjoy the sweet treat. It warmed her heart a little that at least on this one night, she could offer them something other than conflict in their encounter.

She honestly didn't expect anything else, but the blood elf sliced off several pieces of bread, smeared them with honey, and then reached across the fire to offer the first slice to her. She smiled, and thanked him in his language, which she had learned from her blood elven comrades among the Illidari. The first bite was fragrant, the bread soft, the honey sweet and delicious. She would have been perfectly happy with her apple cakes and the honeyed bread, but when the Tauren's potatoes were cooked, he shared them with everyone, savory and rich, cooked until golden and crunchy, and as she ate, watching her plate, a large piece of meat arrived rather suddenly, speared on the tip of the dagger that had fished it from the coals.

Glancing up, she looked at the orc with a mixture of surprise and some other emotion that seemed to rise within her chest, like a high tide.

“The meat is good elk,” he said gruffly, in Common. “It will fill your belly and give you strength.”

She nodded thanks, a lump forming in her throat, and as she ate the rich and succulent meat she had been given, she realized that this was probably the most kindness strangers had ever shown her since she had become a demon hunter.

The night was long and cold, the storm fierce, and the company remained stoically quiet, but the hostility that had been present before was gone. Now they sat in companionable silence, their bellies full of hot food, and their souls nourished by the simple generosity of a shared meal. For a while there were no factions; no Horde, no Alliance, no Demon Hunter.

Just people.


End file.
